


five times thom rainier fucked and one time he made love

by thievinghippo



Series: Narrah Adaar [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-08 07:33:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4296132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thievinghippo/pseuds/thievinghippo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sex has always been Thom Rainier's favorite way to relax, celebrate, and especially to forget.</p>
            </blockquote>





	five times thom rainier fucked and one time he made love

He’s fifteen and can’t keep his eyes to himself.

All Thomas sees that summer is women. One might have large tits and a round arse. Another a small waist and thick thighs. He really isn’t particular. Human, elves, fuck, even dwarven women, all look beautiful to him. He’s desperate to know what their bums feel like in his hands, or their breasts in his mouth. And when Thomas goes to the outhouse at night, fist furiously pumping his cock, frantically working towards his release, he tries to imagine a tight, warm cunt instead of his hand, but it’s never _enough,_ and he’ll spill his seed into the latrine feeling slightly unsatisfied.

It’s wrong the way he eyes them greedily, he knows this. Women are to be respected, and according to his father, only taken in the martial bed. But Thomas would rather listen to Wilson, who works the stables with him during the week. Wilson talks of women _begging_ to be fucked, wanting nothing more than to spread their legs for a man who knew how to use his cock.

Thomas just has no idea how to _find_ these women. He’s not old enough for the tavern and approaching girls he played with as a child isn’t what he wants. Those girls often still giggle at his approach and call him Thommy, like they did when they were children. Friends of his mother often comment what a strong lad he’s become, but that’s not what he hopes for either.

Wilson is the one that points her out. Mara, the youngest of four daughters, the only one who still lives at the big house, where Thomas works as a stable hand. The three elder sisters all are in respectable marriages, but not Mara. Her interest in riding is sudden and it’s said to delight her parents.

The only person allowed to tend her horse is Thomas. She’ll talk to him of the future as he works, telling him just how boring it is to be seventeen with nothing to do. Thomas listens intently, trying to ignore the way sweat drips down her neck after riding, or how she seems to have forgotten to button the top clasp of her tunic. He especially tries to ignore the way his cock stiffens up as she bends down to pick up a tack or an apple. There are days she’s especially clumsy and she smiles slowly when she catches him staring at her tits.

It only takes a week before he finds himself pressed up against her behind the stable. They kiss for what seems forever - Thomas always has enjoyed kissing when he had the chance - before she unlaces his trousers and starts stroking his cock. He practically comes undone then and there, thanks to the soft hand of a woman who’s never known a day of work, but Thomas takes a breath and steadies himself.

He lifts fine skirts of linen and wool, only to discover Mara isn’t wearing any smalls. Groaning into her mouth, he clumsily starts to feel around, trying to remember what Wilson told him to do.

Mara ends their kiss with a laugh, before showing him. “Like this,” she says softly in his ear. Her voice is breathless and _filthy_ as she whispers instructions and with a little bit of effort and patience, she comes right onto his fingers. And Thomas decides he’s in love, thinking of the ways he’ll prove himself to her and her family. He’s becoming rather good with a blade and in a few years, he can enter the tourney. They’ll have to accept him as an equal if he wins.

“Fuck, yes,” she says, leaning back against the stable. Thomas can’t do anything but stare transfixed as she takes his hand and licks his fingers, one by one. “Your turn.”

His turn barely lasts two minutes as she hikes a leg around his waist, bringing him as close as possible. She takes his cock in hand, and tells him to thrust, and thrust hard, because she wants to be _fucked._ Thomas does his best, but Maker, she’s warm and tight and so much better than his fist, that he simply can’t stop himself from finishing far too quickly.

He starts to apologize, but Mara kisses him instead, and Thomas can still taste her cunt on her tongue. When they break apart, she puts her hand on his cheek, and says, “That was exactly what I needed.”

Her engagement to the youngest son of the Margave of Ansburg is announced the next day.

#

The only proper way to celebrate his Grand Melee victory is with two women, he decides.

Thom - never again will he be _Thomas -_ looks around the celebration, realizing for tonight, at least, he has his pick. What woman wouldn’t want to end the night in the winner’s bed? He leans back in his chair, ignoring how his muscles ache and his entire body is screaming for rest, and looks at his options.

There’s a tall blonde who keeps looking his way, but she’s thin as a reed and Thom prefers a bit of roundness, so he can really grip a woman’s arse or thighs. And the bigger the tits, the better. A dark hair dwarf with tight curls made it clear she was his for the taking earlier in the evening. He’s never been with a dwarf before - plenty of humans and a handful of elves - but never a dwarf. That alone makes the offer worth considering, especially since she keeps whispering with a human with blue eyes and a face full of freckles. She’s a bit bigger than he’s had before, but already he can picture just how she’ll cradle his hips as they fuck.

Decision made, Thom leaves the table, full of nobles he could give a piss about, and heads for the dwarf and her friend. They both giggle at his approach, and within five minutes, he has each of them on a knee. The drinks flow freely, the last night of the Grand Tourney, but once the dwarf - Helga, he thinks her name is - starts sucking on his neck, he switches to water. Mirabelle, with her freckles, Maker he hopes they run down her entire body, runs her hands through his hair, and the way she uses her nails against his scalp sends a shiver down his spine.

It’s not long before he suggests they go up to the room he’d been given as victor for the night. They both share a look he can’t quite read, before hopping off his knees and grabbing his hands. They walk as a trio, Thom in the middle, with his arm around Helga’s shoulders and Mirabelle’s waist. The celebration is still loud and in full force and hardly anyone realizes he’s leaving.

That doesn’t please him at all and Thom decides he’ll have to come back down after they’re done. He wants to be remembered tonight; he wants people to take notice when he’s gone. But now that they’re alone in a hallway, the only people that matter are Helga and Mirabelle.

The room he’s been given is lavish, far better than any room he’s ever stayed in before. The girls laugh as they enter, looking around, before going to the bed. Helga starts to  unlaces Mirabelle’s bodice as Thom takes off his shirt. Now that he actually has two women in his bed, he’s not quite sure what to do. He’d hate to give offense, so how in the world should he decide who to kiss first?

Helga, thankfully makes that decision for him, getting up on her knees and pulling him to her, kissing him fiercely. She tastes of dwarven ale and smoke as Mirabelle stands behind him, rubbing his back. Once the kiss ends, Helga starts to undress, so Thom turns to Mirabelle, who has a shy smile on her face. She’s topless already, and Maker, her tits are better than he hoped, large and round and barely fitting in his palm. He tastes wine on her lips as she start runs her hands over his chest.

“You two are the most beautiful women in Thedas,” he says, as Helga grabs his hand, pulling him onto the bed. The mattress is soft and yielding and if his cock wasn’t hard as a rock, he could fall asleep in an instant.

Mirabelle unlaces his trousers as Thom sucks on her tits. He’ll never get enough of her breasts, he’s sure of it. Once he’s freed from his smalls, Helga grasps his cocks, a greedy look in her eye. “And this is why I only fuck humans,” she says with a laugh before taking him in her mouth.

Her mouth is hot and wet and Maker, does she knows how to suck a cock, Thom thinks as he kisses Mirabelle, grabbing her arse. He’s starting to realize he’s exhausted from today’s fighting, and really what he wants is one of them to simply ride him until he comes. But Thom brought two women into his bed, and he’s never let a woman leave unsatisfied yet.

He’ll come far too quickly if Helga kept things up, so he pulls her hair slightly. She looks up at once, as Thom gets up, settling on his knees on the side of the bed. “I want to taste you both,” he says, ignoring the way his cock throbs. “Who’s first?”

“Mirabelle first,” Helga says decisively. “I’d rather have your cock inside me.”

“My lady?” he asks Mirabelle, raising an eyebrow. She nods eagerly, before laying on her back, legs over his shoulder. Thom starts to work at once, getting the feel of her, figuring out just how to make her squirm. There is absolutely nothing better than the taste of a woman’s cunt, he’s realized over the last three years. And what he loves best is that every one tastes different, and not one of them bad. He’s heard talk from other men, who find this a chore, something to be done quickly and forgotten. He’ll never understand that. What finer pleasure is there in life than to kneel in front of a woman and have her unravel right before your very eyes?

Mirabelle is already relaxed from drink and it takes less time than Thom would like to make her come, but the way she moans out his name as she does makes up for it. His cock is desperate as Helga kisses him, and the thought she’s tasting Mirabelle from his tongue makes him even harder still. So he climbs up on the bed and Helga pushes him down onto the mattress, before straddling his hips.

She lowers herself slowly onto his cock, and _fuck_ , she’s tight, so damn tight. Mirabelle settles next to him on her side, placing herself perfectly, so all he has to do is turn his head and he can kiss her breasts. Which he does, over and over again as Helga starts to move. She sets a demanding pace, eager to come as he is. Her hands are calloused as she roams his stomach and chest, a woman who _works_ , Thom thinks with pride.

Thom bends his knees and digs his feet into the soft feather mattress, resisting the urge to let go and find release. When Helga starts to touch herself, hand between her legs as they fuck, Thom has to bite his lip to keep himself from coming. But then Helga stills and her cunt tightens even more around him as she cries out both his and Mirabelle’s name. Only when she’s done, does Thom come, and he does, thrusting his hips over and over with a loud groan.

He’s absolutely spent and has two women curling up on either side of him. He _could_ go back down to the feast and talk to nobles who really couldn’t give one fuck about him, or he about them. Or Thom could fall asleep with Mirabelle’s breasts cushioning his face and Helga’s hand on his cock.

It takes him two minutes before he’s asleep.

#

He wants to lash out at every restriction they give him.

_Shoulders back, eyes front, Rainier. Use your shield to protect yourself, not bludgeon your enemy. Don_ _’t stare at the masks, you Free Marcher bastard, you haven’t earned one yet._

But Thom knows better and he’s exhausted from living hand to mouth as a sell-sword. The Orlesian army gives him food to eat and a bed to sleep in. If he has to control his temper and not yell and scream at the officers constantly giving orders, he will.

Though thanks to his fame from the Grand Melee, Thom’s earned a bit of freedom among the soldiers. The officers seem to like the idea that a winner of the Tourney is under their command and take pleasure in sending him on simple errands. Thom supposes he should feel insulted, but it gives him the chance to leave the training camp and ride into Val Royeaux, and he’ll take every opportunity he gets.

His breath still catches every time he sees the flags waving high above the city. Markam is _nothing_ compared to this. This is power, this is influence, this everything he wants out of life, and if Thom works hard, someday it will be his. Already the other enlisted soldiers are showing him preference to the officers. Eventually, he could work his way up, become an officer himself, and then he’d have all the gold he wanted for wine and trips to the brothel.

He’s been in the army for six months now, and making yet another delivery to Baron Faure’s manor. Almost every week they send him there, either to drop something off, or pick something up. At first it rankled, but then he discovered the Baroness.

She’s young, younger than him, and married to a man at least twice her age but looks almost three times it. They’ve barely spoken in the three months he’s been to the manor, but the week after she caught him staring at her tits, she wore a tight tunic showing them off at their best advantage. And last week, she blatantly stared at his trousers while licking her lips, giving him plenty to think about as he got himself off at night in the privacy of the latrine.

Who knows what today will bring?

Thom rings the doorbell and a servant answers, to his disappointment. Last week the baroness answered the door herself. “You’re to go to the Baroness’ sitting room, Ser,” the servant says quietly.

“Thank you,” Thom says, walking into the manor. A slow smile spreads across his face as he walks to the sitting room. There’s only one reason to have him sent there. Maker, he’s ready. It’s been six months without a woman, without sinking his cock into a warm cunt. He’s made a rule not to fuck any fellow soldiers, as nice and willing as some of the women are. But he has dreams of promotion, and he’d rather not have any sort of complication.

He takes a breath outside the sitting room and steps inside, closing the door behind him as quietly as he can. She’s sitting at a writing desk, wearing only an open silk robe, not even a mask. Of course, he thinks. Good enough to fuck, but not good enough to worry about the Game.

“Where would you like this, my lady?” Thom asks, his voice low, holding out the packet of documents he’s supposed to deliver.

She stands, and Thom doesn’t bother to look away. She’s offering herself on a silver platter, it would seem almost rude not to stare. The hair on the top of her head is blonde, but between her legs is a dark brown. Small tits, but still lovely to look at. His cock is already hard in his uniform trousers and it’s taking all his will power not press against her.

Taking a few steps to another table, circular with a marble top, she places down an elegant hand with painted nails. “Here, I think.”

That’s all the invitation Thom needs, placing the packet on the writing desk before gathering her up in his arms. He tries to kiss her, but she pulls away, putting his hands on her breasts instead. “We don’t have much time,” she whispers as she unlaces his trousers. “The servants will talk.”

Well, he hoped to explore and linger for a bit, but a quick fuck is better than nothing. Thom pulls off his gloves, immediately reaching between her legs. Just like he thought, she’s wet and ready. “How long have you wanted this?” he asks quietly, turning her around as he grinds his cock, still in his smalls, against her arse.

“Since I first saw you,” she says, leaning over the table, resting on her forearms. “I wanted you then.”

His laugh is deep and all he can think is, _Thank you, Orlais,_ as he takes his cock out of his smalls. Thom gives himself a few strokes before grabbing her hips tight. She’s thiner than he’s used to, and he realizes he might leave a bruise. Let her worry about that, he decides as he thrusts once, closing his eyes as she moans under him.

“Well, you’ve got my cock now,” he says as he starts to thrust. She’s wet enough, he’s worried he might slip out, but he quickly decides he doesn’t care if he does. She’s pushes back against him just as hard as he thrusts.

The sounds of their bodies is _obscene_ , between her wetness, and the leather of his trousers, and the way she’s speaking Orlesian under her breath. He wraps his arm around her front and finds her nub, pressing down. Her hands curl into fists as she starts to pound the table and as she orgasms, Thom keeps fucking her as hard as he can, not able to keep from groaning as she clenches around him.

Once she stills, Thom pulls out and with a few strokes of his hands, comes on her back with a series of grunts. She doesn’t move as he catches his breath, eyes fixated at the gleam of his come against her pale skin. And after he puts his cock back in his smalls, Thom grabs a conveniently placed towel and wipes off her back.

He’s ready to sit down and put her on his knee, maybe cuddle a bit, but instead she stands and looks at him with a discerning eye. Then with a flick of her fingers, she says, “You may go.”

Thom grits his teeth as he laces up his trousers. Fucking nobles, taking whatever they want, whenever they want. But in the end, what does it matter? In this room, they’re the same: two people desperate to get off. She might pretend she has power, but Thom knows she has a birthmark on her left hip and a scar on her right shoulder, details a common soldier shouldn’t have.

So he leaves the manor with his head held high, and is disappointed, but not surprised, when someone else is chosen to run documents to the Faure manor the next week.

#

This will be like any other fuck, he tells himself.

He doesn’t have much in terms of coin, but Thom decides a night in a brothel is _exactly_ what he needs. He needs to lose himself in a woman and forget. Forget everything. Forget he’s on the fucking run. Forget that he’s had to leave his bloody life behind. Forget that he’s a murderer of children.

And sex never fails to distract him.

It’s been years since he stood in Cumberland, but Thom has vague memory of where the brothels are. There’s one in the financial district of the city. That’s where _Captain_ Thom Rainier would go, looking through the list of available women with his head held high. But he can’t afford those prices, not any more. So he goes to the poorer section of town, where he remembers a brothel being run in the back of a tavern. The women won’t be as young or pretty, but he doesn’t care for looks, not today. If he did, he’d march into one of the nicer taverns and use his charm until he found a girl who suited him. But that’s not what he wants.

The tavern is quiet and dirty; _Captain_ Thom Rainier would never step foot in here in a million years. But he’s done being _Captain_ Thom Rainier. He lost that right the moment he gave the order to kill everyone in the carriage. So a quick fuck in a dirty tavern is no better than he deserves.

The madam looks bored as Thom walks up to her. “What’s your pleasure?” she says, as she adjusts what’s obviously a wig on the top of her head. She speaks in that strange Nevarran accent, that he sometimes has a hard time understanding. “We’ve no corpses at the moment.”

He shudders, remembering that he’s in a country where sleeping with a corpse is simply a matter of taste. “Big tits and willing to do all the work,” Thom says quietly, handing her the coin.

“Third room on the left.”

He runs his hand over his face, trying to work up some sort of excitement. Normally he loves going to brothels and the anticipation of not knowing what sort of woman he’ll end up with. Short, tall, thin, chubby, human, elf. But tonight he just wants to close his eyes and have someone else get him off so he can maybe lose the nervous edge surrounding him.

Without any ceremony, Thom pushes open the door to the room. A woman around his own age sits on the edge of the bed, reading a book. Her face is scarred, but he can tell she must have been a beauty when she was young. But she’s plump with tits the size of his fist, just the sort of women he’s looking for.

She puts down the book and looks him over. “Hello, love,” she says, her Ferelden accent surprising him. “Don’t you look like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders.”

“You’ve no fucking idea,” he says, putting down his weapons and his pack. He travels with them everywhere now. No choice since he has no where to go.

“Well, you’ve come to the right place,” she says, untying her robe. He drinks her in, a soft belly and thick thighs. Perfect. “I’ll help you forget for a few hours.”

Thom nods absently, pulling his tunic over his head. This was a mistake. There’s no pulse in his cock tonight, and Maker, his life was only turned around two weeks ago. But she already has her hand on the laces of his trousers, so Thom lets instinct take over, palming her breasts.

They don’t kiss once, but his lips explore everywhere else. Her breasts, her belly, even under the small roll of flesh on her waist she tries to keep him from. Even so, his cock doesn’t seem to want to respond. Not until he starts licking her cunt, tasting her wetness and sweat and smoke all intertwined. _This_ is his comfort: the taste of sex and women. The doxy tells him exactly what to do to get her off and soon, she’s crying out to the Maker, the heels of her feet digging into his back.

“You’re bloody brilliant,” she says, pulling him onto the bed. Thom lies on his back, and as she swings her leg over his hips, he wonders if he should ask her name. But he keeps quiet and closes his eyes as she takes his cock inside her. Then splaying her hands across his chest, starts to move.

It’s a simple fuck, nothing special, really. More time passes than he likes before he half-heartedly comes, because hearing that song, that damn song in his head, over and over again doesn’t help move things along.

_Mockingbird, mockingbird, quiet and still_

“Weren’t able to forget, were you?” she asks, putting on her robe as he dresses. “Sorry about that.”

“Not your fault,” Thom says, his voice in ashes as he shakes his head and picks up his pack. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to.”

#

“Oh by the Dread Wolf, Rainier, you’re drunk. Get off me.”

Thom rolls to his side and looks at Raelia, a mage in this week’s mercenary group. “Thought you wanted to fuck,” he says, trying to focus on her eyes. Her tattoos are bright against her dark skin, and he hopes it will be like last week, when he traced them with his tongue, especially the ones vining down her body.

They’re in a tent near the edge of camp so both of them keep their voices low. “If you could keep sober,” Raelia says. “I could smell the wine on your breath the second you stepped into the tent.”

“Just enough to take the edge off,” Thom says, reaching for her again. “My cock’s working just fine.”

“You drank almost an entire bottle of wine.” Raelia rolls her eyes as she hefts her robes up over her hips. “This is only because I feel sorry for you, you drunk bastard,” she says, turning on her side with her back to him. Thom squeezes her arse, and she lets out a genuine laugh. “I’ll bet you a galleon you won’t even finish.”

“No need to be insulting,” Thom says, unlacing his trousers. There’s not as much life in his cock as he’d like at the moment, but hopefully a few swift strokes will be enough to make up for things.

This is his last night with the group. Tomorrow they’ll be in Churneau for a six week contact in the city. Staying in one place for that long is only asking for trouble, so Thom will take his coin and find another group leaving the city. He’s bloody sick of this life, of moving from town to town, but he’s no other choice if he wants to keep drinking. And Maker, he needs to keep drinking.

Drink’s his only comfort these days. Women won’t even take his mind off his problems anymore. Only when he’s had enough to drink do the children stop singing.

Her hand is on his cock, then, and she gives it a squeeze. Thom bites back a groan as she starts to stroke, pleasure shooting up his spine. “Fuck me already,” she says, raising her leg and resting it on his thigh.

Thom might be no better than a drunkard now, but he still prides himself on pleasing a woman in bed. So he guides his cock into her, closing his eyes at he does, letting the warmth and wetness of her cunt be the only thing he thinks about. Once he’s in to the hilt, he places his hand on her flat stomach, feeling her hip bones against his arms. Raelia’s a skinny little thing, with hardly any tits to speak of.

She has a hand on her breast as she starts to grind back against him. Thom opens his eyes, but quickly closes them again, once he realizes the tent is spinning a bit. So he concentrates on his cock and starts to thrust. The rhythm of sex is ingrained deep in his bones; getting a woman off is almost instinctual these days. Which is good, because perhaps Raelia’s right. Perhaps he’s had too much to drink tonight.

“This what you wanted, Rainier?” Raelia whispers, guiding his hand lower. “How’s my pussy feel?”

Too many nights fucking in tents and in dark corners of taverns have taught him to stay quiet during sex. But Raelia likes to talk, he’s learned in the handful of times they’ve fucked, and since is the last time, he might as well oblige. “You’re so fucking wet.”

“Got to do better than that to get me off, Rainier,” Raelia says with a laugh.

Thom thrusts a bit harder now, pinning her against him, as he starts to play with her clit. With a clear head, he could dirty talk with the best of them. But his head is most certainly not clear. “My cock’s enough,” he says with a grunt, trying not to panic as his cock doesn’t want to seem to cooperate. “You love getting pounded.”

She moans in response and Thom slows this thrusts, putting more pressure on her nub. Maker, he can already tell she’s right. He’s not going to finish. There will be no sweet release as he closes his eyes and lets pleasure take over. No matter. This is a matter of pride now, making sure Raelia comes, even if he doesn’t.

His hand works, but at this angle, it’s awkward and uncomfortable and Thom’s not willing to admit defeat and turn her onto her back so he could get her off properly. She’s quiet now, no more whispered dirty words under her breath. And once his cock slips out of her completely, Raelia pushes his hand away.

“Go to bed, Rainier,” Raelia says quietly, moving onto her stomach, her face turned away from him. He hears the pity in her voice and wants to be anywhere but here.

Without another word, Thom laces his trousers and leaves the tent, sure his cheeks must be red with shame. If he can’t properly fuck a woman, what good is he? He can’t stay here in camp tonight, not after that. He plans on leaving tomorrow anyway. Might as well get a head start, he thinks as he goes to his tent.

It takes only moments to pack up his gear, the sum total of his pathetic existence. There’s a tavern nearby, he remembers. He’ll go there, have some wine, and ask to sleep in the stables.

It’s no better than a mongrel like him deserves.

#

He’s forty-five and can’t keep his eyes off of her.

Narrah sits on her sofa, hands folded together. She’s still, but then she’s always so still. It’s one of the reasons he sought her out in the beginning, because there were never any _demands_. She could sit for hours, reading about magical theory or spinning wool with that handheld spindle of hers. She looks like a queen, the way she sits, broad shoulders and hips, and her sawed-off horns that never grew back properly. And he’s sure he looks exactly like what he is: a fucking murderer who shouldn’t even be in the same room with her.

Thom can’t stop moving. After three weeks in prison, three weeks in one place, three weeks wishing he was dead, he needs to _move._ So he walks around her quarters, picking up scrolls or gear, studying them for a moment before putting them down again, looking at Narrah every chance he has, as if he’s afraid she’ll disappear into the Void.

“Thom, please,” Narrah says softly. He winces at the name, at having her call him that after all this time. “You’re making me nervous.”

“I don’t mean to, my lady,” he says, putting down the vase he picked up. “I just…”

“Sit with me,” she says. There’s no order in his voice, just a simple request. Sitting. He could do that. So he walks to the opposite end of the sofa. But before he’s able to sit, Narrah asks, “Next to me?”

With a nod, Thom walks over to his lady and sit down, close enough so their thighs touch. She puts her arm around him and Thom find himself relaxing against her, resting his head on her shoulder. He knows men all over Skyhold talk about their relationship, wondering what it’s like to be with a woman taller and stronger. But never once has he felt like less of a man next to her.

He thinks back to his Judgment, only this morning, but feeling like an age ago. “If I die in the Joining-”

“I’ve already buried a husband and a son, Thom. I know how much I can lose and stay standing,” Narrah says quietly. “I’ll mourn you, but I’ll be proud you died a Warden.”

 _Died a Warden._ His heart feels light at the thought. No matter the battles ahead, even if he dies tomorrow, he’ll die a true Warden-recruit.

But it’s not death he wants to think of now, not when he’s been given a second chance at _life._ Turning his head, he brushes his lips against the side of her neck. She’s one of the strongest women he’s ever met, and somehow, even after all he’s done, she still wants to be with him. Their lips meet quietly; there are no gasps or moans as they kiss.

At first, it’s almost like they’re reminding themselves of the other. Until he met her, Thom never thought he’d be one to fall in love. Or if he did, she’d be a young thing, someone always laughing and ready to fuck. But Narrah’s nothing like the woman he conjured in his head. A qunari a few years older than him. Serious, but with a sly sense of humor, and often content not to have sex at all.

Tonight’s not one of those nights, though. “We should move to the bed,” she whispers.

They walk hand in hand towards the bed. Once there, Thom starts undoing all the ridiculous buttons on her tunic, while she unties the toggles on his gambeson. Before long they’re naked and he takes a moment to drink her all in. She’s absolutely perfect, in every way. Large breasts, a soft belly, and beautiful, thick thighs. And underneath all the softness is a strength he could only dream of. Strength from walking, strength from fighting and strength from being the only hope for all of Thedas.

Before he knows it, they’re on the bed and he’s leaning over her, kissing her neck. One hand traces the shell of Narrah’s pointed ear, putting just a hint of pressures at the tip, earning him a bit of a moan. Her hand slides down his side, over the slight bit of belly he’s developed over the past few years. As a young man, he’d be despondent over the idea of a little extra flesh, even as he loved it on women. Now, he simply doesn’t care, not with so many other things in his life to worry about. Funny how perspective can change over the years.

Narrah’s eager tonight, they both are, thanks to their separation. Her hand wraps around his cock, hard and ready, and Thom groans into his neck. He worried once, his cock wouldn’t be enough for her - he’d seen a few naked qunari men in his day - but he should have known nature has a way of making these things work.

Thom starts to move lower, desperate to taste her, but Narrah grabs his shoulder. “Not tonight, Thom,” she says, her breathing slightly labored. “You always make this about me. Let’s just be together. _Please._ ”

He reaches up to kiss her then, his heart ready to burst. A small sliver inside wants to pout - she knows how much he loves taking care of her - but then the thought of being inside her, connecting with her in that way, takes over. Thom rolls on top of her, feeling every bit of her softness against his body, and positions himself as she grabs another pillow for behind her head.

Her breasts press up against his chest as he guides his cock inside her. And Thom settles himself on his forearms, leaving absolutely no space between them, as it should be. He’s hers for the rest of his life, no matter what happens. He can’t even imagine being with another woman, not after Narrah. Why would he want to, when he’s got everything he could ever want right here? Maker, he’ll work the rest of his life to try to deserve her.

Thom rolls his hips once, then again as Narrah bends her knees, taking him in deeper. Her cunt clenches around him and he lifts his head, brushing his lips against her jawline. Narrah tilts her head and they _kiss,_ as he starts to thrust _._

With each thrust, he’s telling her just how much he loves her. And when her hands - weathered from age, scarred from mercenary work, hands that will save the world not because she’s pressed, but because she _can_ \- find his, the words tumble out. Thom’s not said the words nearly as much as he should over the past few months, not believing he had the right, but now they’re light as air and smooth as silk on his tongue.

“I love you,” he whispers again, looking up at her.

“I love you,” she says right back and there’s no hesitation, no regret, just a simple statement of fact.

They’re quiet then, working towards each other’s release. And when Narrah throws back her head on the pillow, whimpering, Thom speeds up his thrusts, feeling pressure building in his belly. She comes with a gasp, her hands squeezing his as she clamps down on his cock. He sees the look of relief and contentment on her face and it’s enough to push him over the edge.

He comes with a grunt, spilling into her, and holds her hands like he will never let her go. Seconds or minutes or hours pass and Thom rolls to his side. Narrah quickly follows, pressing her soft breasts against his back and resting her chin on the top of his head. Their fingers intertwine, and he waits for the sound of her heaving breathing, telling him she’s sound asleep.

Only then does Thom finally lets himself rest.


End file.
